STHM
by ProstheticSouMan
Summary: this is the first instalment of a possible series i hope to write here, depending on the response of this one. guess what it is about, even though the title can give it away. R&R.


            All characters created and under © and ä of Jhonen Vasquez

777

            Oh how he remembered those numbers.

            He walked up to the door.  Time had taken its toll on the house.  Bits and pieces of the outside were chipping off; leaving particles around it like leafs surrounding a dead tree.  The door was nailed shut, just as the windows had always been.  A few quick pulls took them out, and he walked through the door.  

            Home.  He felt at home.  A calmness he hadn't felt, since he last talked with the former resident, rose to his heart.

            Scrambling in his backpack, he took out the remainder of his old teddy bear.  Riddled with stitches, and most of his fake fur rubbed away, his face was yet still visible.  Those eyes, which he had stared into during all those nights of fear, still had their aura.  He thought to himself how funny it was, to wind up as he never thought he would.

            Blood still stained the walls, yet had chipped away with the old wood.  Boxes filled with various things riddled the floor as a poor substitute for furniture.  The old couch, lopsided with years of use, lay in front of that TV set with the bunny ears.  

            He sat and turned on the TV;  Scumby was on.  Memories began to dance in his head, switching from time to time.  All those nights he would stay up with the window open, just to hear the noises that came from this house.  They terrified him, but none the less, intrigued him.  He heard laughter to this show so many times.  Other nights there were all those faint screams, and once a gun shot.  

            And last week, when he was walking down the street…

            The cool night air brushed upon his face, he was walking quite fast, this trip was important.

            He had not been down this street in years.  Not ever since his parents moved away while he was still in that damned asylum.  He knew his old neighbor was out, he had seen him walking in the halls toward the exit, the same day he was registered and locked up.  Eagerness arouse as he neared the house.   The lawn was still nothing but dirt, the windows still nailed up.  Light came from an indoor lamp, a sign that he was home.

            Knocking on the door, he thought of what to say, whether at all he was welcomed.  After a minute of silence, he knocked once more.  Still, not a sound came from inside.  He opened the door and walked in, uncertain of what might happen.

            "Hello?" Still there was no response in the room.

            He walked into what was supposed to be the kitchen, and he saw it.

            Johnny lay on the floor, facing the ceiling.  He was still dressed the same.  Next to him lay a shattered Bub's Burger Boy statuette,  his head still together, with his mindless grin.  

            Tears filled his eyes.  Never before had he felt close to another human.  The only one to ever seem to try and look out after him, was Johnny.  He knelt by his side, and looked to his face.  Time had been hard on Johnny, his face covered in wrinkles, his hair had faint white streaks.  

            He took his body out to the back yard, and dug a grave.  After he buried him, he took two planks from inside the house, nailed them together in the form of a crude cross, painted 'NNY' on it, and stuck it at the head of the freshly dug dirt.  He sat down and cried.  Wiping away his tears created mud on his face, he didn't care.  

            He knew what he was to do.  After all those years of never knowing what to do with his life, he realized to follow in the footsteps of the only true father figure he ever had.  He didn't know what exactly to do, but he knew to live there.  It was in his soul.

*  *  *

            After wiping away the tears, he turned of the TV and walked back outside.  He then walked to his old house.  It was occupied with a new family.

            Looking in his old window, he noticed it was a child's room.  A smile spread across his face.  He looked further inside, and saw the boy sitting in his bed, reading a story.  The child looked of 8 years or less.  

            The boy saw a glimse of him standing there at the window.  He screamed and ran down the hall.

            'This should be the start of something beautiful, and new.' Todd thought to himself and walked back to the house.


End file.
